Iolanthe Potter or Sally Jackson?
Sometimes, she had to admit being lost in her different identities. Saving Wizarding Britain was supposed to be the culmination of her life's work, never expecting to survive beyond the Final Battle against Voldemor...
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[Outside in the courtyard, day time. Oliver and Iolanthe appear, carrying a trunk. They put it down.]
Oliver: Quidditch is easy enough to understand. Each time has seven players. Three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper and a Seeker. That's you. There are three kinds of balls. [picks up a red one] This one's called the Quaffle. Now, the chasers handle the Quaffle and try to put it through one of those three hoops. [Points to the hoops in the Quidditch pitch in the distance.] The keeper, that's me, defends the hoops. [throws ball to Iolanthe.] With me so far?
Iolanthe: [throws back] I think so. What are those? [points to two squirming chained down balls.]
Clarisse looked eerily attracted to the game: she had guessed there would be a lot of hitting involved and she had to agree she was seeing the appeal in Quidditch. The other demigods? Not so much. They were already in danger by the mere virtue of their birth and the ichor running through their veins and they didn't see anything positive in flying around in a broom after demented balls. "I like that," grinned the daughter of War.
Iolanthe giggled, amused by her reaction. "That makes four of us," she said, pointing towards Ronald and Sirius. Hermione seemed disgruntled by the mere mention of the sport and rolled her eyes at her friend's reaction.
"Why do I have the feeling I won't like those balls ?," asked Poseidon, looking at the box where the Bludgers were being held. They looked dangerous and he had the feeling his beloved would encounter them more times than he would wish.
Ron smiled mischeviously. "Oh, they are special," he said, agreeing with the Sea God. It was surreal to imagine he was currently in the same room as deities, but he had been used to the impossible as soon as he became friends with the infamous Girl-Who-Lived.
Oliver: You better take this. [hands Iolanthe a small bat. He bends down and releases one ball. With an angry growl, it flies off into the air. The two Gryffindo watch it.] Careful now, it's coming back. [The balls comes whizzing down, and Iolanthe cracks at it with the bat. The ball soars off through a statue, surprisingly without damaging it.] Not bad, Potter. You'd make a fair Beater. Uh-oh. [The ball zooms down, and Oliver grabs it, wriggling to get it back in the box. He succeeds and is out of breath.]
Iolanthe: What was that?!
Oliver: Bludger. Nasty little buggers. But you are a Seeker. And the only thing I want you to worry about is this. The Golden Snitch. [hands Iolanthe a walnut sized golden ball.]
Hermione let down her guards for a few seconds. "Fred and George were like human bludgers," she mused, flinching at the memory of their fallen friend. The Weasleys had never entirely recovered from the loss of one of the twins and to be fair, even they hadn't.
